


Chasing Calliope

by chiefharbour



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Crushes, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Insecurity, Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Trauma, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25007296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiefharbour/pseuds/chiefharbour
Summary: Your best friend scores a date with Joyce Byers and you’re forced to make him over. Little did you know that you were what he wanted from the very beginning.Jim Hopper x Reader [Calliope "Callie" Callahan]
Relationships: Jim "Chief" Hopper & Reader, Jim "Chief" Hopper & You, Jim "Chief" Hopper/Original Female Character(s), Jim "Chief" Hopper/Reader, Jim "Chief" Hopper/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	1. Shears & Tears

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very excited to be able to share with you the start of a series that I am planning to do. I will be placing all future headcanon and drabble requests in this universe, so I hope that you guys grow to love the dynamic I have planned for Hopper and Callie. If you have any requests for the pairing, please feel free to shoot me a message!

Three bangs.

You squinted your eyes open as the sound of a heavy fist banged against your door, waking you up unpleasantly as the sun peeked out of your curtain and met your face. With a loud groan, you turned on your side, embarrassment flooding your face when you realized that you had slept in until two in the afternoon.

_It’s your day off_ , you thought to yourself. _Fuck waking up at a reasonable hour._

You arose like a zombie, grabbing your pink silk robe off of your rocker before tying it taut around your waist. You walked into the living room, careful to make sure that your bare breasts were covered behind the material before opening the door with a clenched jaw. Your eyes widened upon seeing Jim Hopper standing before you with a wide grin, his right hand gripping onto the paper handle of a JC Penney shopping bag.

“Can I help you?” you asked begrudgingly, a groan tumbling off of your lips as he pushed his way past your figure and into your home.

“It’s happening, Callie,” your friend smiled, placing the bag down onto your coffee table before clapping his hands in excitement. “She said yes.”

“Who said ‘yes’ to what, exactly?” you yawned, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you closed your front door.

“Joyce,” he replied, squinting his eyes like you should have known the answer all along. “She’s meeting me for dinner. _Finally_ , right?”

Your eyes shot open, the fogginess surrounding you from your deep sleep suddenly clearing. Your mouth went dry, your heart dropping to the pit of your stomach.

_Oh._

You cleared your throat before painting a fake smile on your lips, “That’s...that’s amazing, Hop.”

“I mean, it did take me a while, but...” he trailed off, his eyes which were searching around your apartment now falling onto the exposed swell of your breasts peeking out from behind your robe. 

You blushed, pulling the material tighter over your chest as his gaze returned to your eyes, his cheeks slightly ruddy, “I’m sorry, did I, uh, wake you up?”

“Maybe,” you winced, crossing your arms over your chest with a shrug.

“It’s two o’clock,” he chuckled, taking his uniform hat off before placing it on your couch.

“Day off,” you replied with a tight smile. “ _Why are you here on my day off?_ ”

“Someone’s a little grumpy,” he teased under his breath before pursing his lips. “Well...if it’s your day off, then that means you don’t have any clients, right?”

“ _Jim_ ,” you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose as you felt a headache begin to form.

“Come on, _please_ ,” he whimpered, his eyes growing wide and puppy-like, his bright blue irises begging you to acquiesce. “Please groom your friend. For old time’s sake?”

Every part of your body screamed at you to say _no_ , but something about how earnest his eyes were rattled you. Your heart was breaking, even though you knew this was going to happen sooner or later. He couldn’t stop talking about Joyce for the past two months- about how beautiful her eyes were, how petite and cute she was, how much she made him smile.

Each comment he made had felt like a knife was continually digging itself into your heart. You knew deep down how you felt about him, how you always felt about him, but you would rather settle for his friendship than risk losing him by admitting your feelings. 

He meant too much to you.

You sighed dramatically, your resolve weakening as the little dark blue flecks in his eyes seemed to cry out even more to you, “ _Fine_. Just let me get dressed. You, sir, need to take a shower. No friend of mine is showing up to a date smelling like stale cigarettes and ass.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled, pulling your shoulders towards his body before pressing a kiss to your cheekbone. “You’re the best person I know.”

Another rip in the heart.

“I know,” you managed to choke out, pulling out of his grasp before retreating to your bedroom, him to your bathroom.

You had met him in December of last year.

Your brother, Phil, had called you, begging for you to help his boss with a problem he had. He couldn’t give you any specific details, but he knew it was related to cosmetics. You reluctantly agreed, knowing that you owed him for paying to get your car towed the week prior. So, you drove out to the small cabin in the woods, your hair and make-up equipment in tow.

When you had reached the house, the man came out in a huff, his hair adorably skewed and his eyes wide and panicked.

“Are you Calliope?” he asked, a nervous smile on his face as you grabbed your bags out of you car.

“I prefer Callie,” you blushed, your eyes raking up the man’s large form.

_Gorgeous_.

“Huh,” he laughed, his nerves seemingly melting away. “Callie Callahan? That’s-”

“Yeah, I know,” you chuckled, walking up the steps and looking up at him. “But I think it beats Calliope.”

“I think Calliope is a gorgeous name,” he spoke lowly, his voice as smooth as honey as his gaze intensified. “Just like the girl it belongs to.”

You opened your mouth to speak, air coming out before you began to giggle nervously, your eyes darting around, “So...what can I help you with, Chief?”

“Hopper,” he spoke, opening the door for you. “Or Jim...you know, whichever you’d prefer.”

“So why do you need the help of a beautician tonight, Jim Hopper?” you teased, licking your lips before setting your bags down onto the small dining table.

“It’s, uh, my daughter,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck with a large hand. “She’s going to this dance, and...well, I don’t really know what to do, and she wants eyeshadow and-”

“You’re so cute,” you cooed. “Well, I’d love to meet her. I have all the eyeshadow she could ever think of.”

You had done El’s hair and make-up that night, giving her advice on boys as Hopper rolled his eyes in the corner. The man was as gruff and sexy as he was soft and adorable. You knew you were smitten the first time you’d spoke to him.

Since then, you were incredibly close. Even though he was occasionally flirty with you, you were always too scared to make a move. It wasn’t until the last two months that he started acting differently- he barely touched you, never made eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. It scared you...almost making you think that you repulsed him in some way. 

But he still came around every other day, always wanting to check in on you and see how you were doing. To watch television. To drink a little whiskey. To keep you company.

By all accounts, Hopper was your best friend.

You threw on your comfiest clothes, tying your hair in a messy bun before walking into your living room to set up. Turning on some music, you went to make a pot of coffee for the both of you, trying your damndest not to think about the man who was hiding behind your shower curtain. Naked and wet.

You poured two mugs, walking back into the living room before halting in your tracks. Steam poured out of the bathroom in the hallway before he walked in with a towel tied taut around his wait.

You swallowed thickly, trying to pry your eyes away from the man’s bare torso as water droplets ran down his stomach in tiny rivulets like a damn music video. He walked towards you with a sly grin, grabbing a cup from your hands.

“You treat me too damn good,” he smiled, shaking his head before sipping the hot liquid. “You make damn good coffee, too.”

“Only because you didn’t pay for it,” you smiled, placing your mug on the coffee table as he sat down in a chair you had set up for him.

“Yep,” he replied, shaking his hair so that water droplets flew in your direction.

“You’re like a damn shaggy dog,” you sighed, threading your fingers through his damp hair. “I’ll give you a little trim. Style it nice.”

“And what about the animal I have growing on my face?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow as he peeked up at you over his shoulder.

“I’m rather fond of the animal on your face,” you smirked, scratching your nails against his scalp. You felt him shiver. “I’ll clean up your neck, though, yeah?”

“Okay,” he blushed, his eyes looking down to his lap before he brought the mug back up to his lips.

“So,” you began, taking a comb and running it through his hair. “She said yes. What did you say to sweeten the pot?”

“Just batted my eyes, darlin’,” he replied smoothly. “Gonna make it real nice. Get her the good wine...which is _what_ , exactly?”

You bit your lower lip to contain a smile, his lack of knowledge endearing and making your heart throb, “Get the Chianti. It tastes like cherries.”

“Women love cherries,” he said under his breath, almost as if he were taking mental notes.

“Well, I don’t know about Joyce, but...this woman right here loves cherries,” you smirked, taking your shears to begin trimming his hair.

“Of course you do. They’re sweet...just like you.”

⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎

Hours had passed.

You yawned loudly, looking at your wall clock and then back to the mess that laid before you with a sigh. You practically devoured an entire large pizza from DelMonico’s, even downing an entire bottle of white wine, whose empty receptacle sat perfectly next to the empty pizza box. The television was dimly lit, the end credits of _The Way We Were_ rolling. 

You had never been happier to have chosen not to wear mascara today; it would have rolled off of your cheeks in the last hour with how much you were crying. 

Your emotions were all over the place: jealousy of a woman you barely knew, heartbreak for a man who didn’t feel the same way as you, and anguish for Barbara Streisand’s character in the movie. 

You were curled up in your softest blanket, comfort encompassing you and making you never want to leave you couch. Sleep was eminent. 

Three loud bangs.

“ _Son of a bitch_ ,” you groaned, tossing your head back before throwing your blanket on the floor. 

You jumped off the couch, your hands rolled into fists as you looked through the peephole of your door, making you scrunch your face in confusion, “...Hopper?”

You quickly opened the door, your friend stumbling through the entry way with a bottle of wine gripped tightly in his hand as he tried to regain his balance.

“Woa, there, cowboy,” you chuckled, grabbing his shoulders and steering him towards your couch.

He murmured something spitefully under his breath, placing the bottle down on the table, “Brought you somethin’.”

You quirked an eyebrow, turning the bottle to observe the label and smiling when you saw it, “Um...thank you, Jim.”

“Maybe you like it,” he slurred. “Tastes like cherries.”

“What the hell happened to you?” you asked, sitting down next to him as he groaned.

“Stood me up,” he replied, rubbing his eyelids in frustration. “No call, no nuthin’...just let me stay there for an hour. And I _waited_. Like a fuckin’ moron.”

Your stomach lurched towards him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders as you looked over his features, “You are _not_ a moron.”

He looked over your face, his eyes falling to your parted lips, “You wouldn’t have stood me up, would you?”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” you scoffed, playing with the loose strands of his now messy hair. “Pass up on a free dinner? Do I look like a dumb ass?”

He chuckled, resting his forehead against yours as he closed his eyes and inhaled softly, “Ya’ smell nice...sweet...like cookies.”

“Thanks,” you blushed, pushing him away slowly so he wouldn’t get dizzy. “You’re sleeping over. I’m not letting you get back into that car.”

“You wan’ me to spen’ the night with you?” he asked, his eyebrows raised with a dumb grin plastered on his face.

“On the couch,” you corrected, taking his coat off before working on untying his shoes. “You smell like fucking rubbing alcohol.”

He fell backwards, his head landing against a throw pillow before you draped his body in a blanket. His eyes shot open, his hand shooting up to cup your cheek.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he smirked, his thumb rubbing back and forth over your cheekbone. “Shoulda’ jus’ kissed you before. I jus’ wanna kiss you. All I wanna do.”

Your cheeks reddened, your stomach growing warm and lips trembling as you looked deeply into his eyes. You tried to pull away from him, your brain coming to and reminding you of the state he was in.

“Get some rest, Jim,” you whispered, standing up before walking towards the lamp that was lit. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Not gon’ kiss me goodnight, doll?” he teased, biting his lip as his eyes raked over your form.

“Not tonight,” you swallowed, fighting the tears in your eyes from rearing their ugly heads once more. “You won’t even remember this in the morning.”

“I always wanna kiss ya’,” he grumbled. “Too damn cute not to.”

You turned off the lamp, slowly retreating to your bedroom as you attempted to clear your thoughts. Even if what he said was true, did you really want to be a second choice for him? Or were you always his first choice?

_He’s drunk_ , you thought to yourself. _He probably just wanted a warm body for the night._

You curled up in your bed, clutching your knees to your chest as you tried to breathe easy. You would deal with it in the morning.

He was your best friend, after all.


	2. Back Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a failed date with Joyce Byers, Hopper admits to Callie why he feels like his luck with women has been piss-poor in the past few years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Request: "Could you write something about Hopper being a little insecure about his body and the reader helps to convince him that he is actually the most attractive man on this planet?"
> 
> Chapter Rating: T for Language

Your eye peeked open slightly as the sunlight began to flood into your bedroom through a sheer curtain. For the quickest of seconds, you had completely forgot about the events of the night prior. Rather, you smiled as you recalled the memories of the romantic dream you had regarding a certain Mr. Robert Redford, assumably due to the movie you had decided to watch in your time of distress.

And then, suddenly, everything began to rush back to you.

You groaned, lifting one of your hands up to rub over your eyelids in exhaustion. You already knew what it was like when Hopper nursed a hangover; he would be hungry, grumpy, and groggy. With the memories of the last time you hosted a hungover Hopper, you sat up in your bed before heading down the hallway and into your kitchen.

Before entering the small area, you peeked over the side of your sofa, a small smile playing at your lips as you watched Hopper continue to sprawl out over the small cushions. Soft snores tickled the air, his hair a complete bird’s nest as drool glossed over his chin. He looked incredibly peaceful, knocked out even.

A calm before the storm.

One of the main reasons you were convinced that he stuck around for so long was because of your cooking and baking skills. You always said that in another life (a life where you didn’t find solace in lipstick pigments and heated hair curlers) you would have opened up your own bakery somewhere in downtown Hawkins. Hopper couldn’t have agreed more.

The first time that the man had tried your baking was when you made a platter of s’mores cookies, claiming that you had made them specifically with El in mind when you had approached the cabin. Secretly, all you desired was his reaction to the sweets and his alone.

“I make the kid ‘Triple Decker’ Eggos- that’s more than enough sugar for her,” he smiled, shaking his head as one of his hands hovered over the exposed tray of cookies you had settled on the counter. “She isn’t even here, so I really think that this is just some ploy to get the Chief fat. Maybe so you can rob a bank…outrun me, perhaps?”

“Oh, really?” you drawled, taking a cookie in your hand before toasting it against the one he had finally chosen. “Well, here’s to future robberies and watching you fall on your ass trying to catch me.”

The man chuckled, bringing the cookie to his mouth before sinking his teeth into it. His eyes fluttered closed, an obscene noise emitting from his chest as the graham cracker shortbread melted on his tongue. You blushed, nearly choking on the cookie currently trying to break down on your own tongue.

You had to force yourself to stifle a giggle when he pulled away, a small amount of marshmallow sticking to the whiskers of his mustache.

“These taste _so_ good,” he groaned, whistling in approval after he swallowed it down. “I haven’t met someone who has baked this well since…well, shit, I guess since my mom. And that was a long, _long_ time ago.”

You bit your lip, shuffling back and forth on your feet, “I’m sorry to hear about that.”

“Don’t be,” he shrugged, taking another bite. “Been without parents for a long time, darlin’.”

You forced a tight smile, nodding in understanding. You had also been without the caring presence of a mother for quite some time, since you were four, in fact. The memories you had of her were scarce, but you did remember the scent of her perfume. It was probably because your father still kept a bottle of the fragrance stored in his closet, or maybe it was because it still lingered on the clothes he refused to toss after her passing.

“The point is,” he began, licking his lips before pointing a thick finger in your direction. “You cook awfully well for a girl so young. Like you’ve had years of experience in the kitchen.”

You blushed, cocking your head at him, “Well, I’m not sure how much Phil tells you, but we lost our mom when I was young, too. And of course the men of the house only ate sandwiches or cans of beans and corn.”

He chuckled, causing a smirk on your lips as you continued, “I bought a cookbook around eight years old, I think. Been going at it ever since. Someone has to keep them happy, you know?”

“I’m sure you do that without cooking for them,” he sighed, leaning forward on his elbows, his face inches away from yours. “You know…Phil always said he had a younger sister, but…”

“He never said how much younger?” you laughed, nodding your head in understanding. “Phil is thirty-two, and I’m about, oh let’s see…ten? Ten years younger?”

The last amount of cookie in Hopper’s mouth flew to the back of his throat as he gasped, making him choke in shock. His cheeks went ruddy as he tried to regain his breath, the desert finally flowing down the right organ, “I-I’m sorry. You’re…only twenty-two?”

You smiled, rolling your eyes before reaching out to playfully punch his shoulder, “How dare you assume I was older? Hasn’t anyone ever told you how rude that is?”

He shook his head, laughing airily as he looked back up at you, “Can I get you a glass of milk?”

Ever since then, you always made sure to make him something from scratch whenever you had the time. A man of his hectic schedule relied on those sandwiches and cans of beans and corn you poked fun at. He would praise you every time you gifted him with a pan of pasta or a tray of cupcakes, it was a feeling you enjoyed having.

You guessed that’s why you found yourself wanting to bake this morning. You needed that little amount of praise after the emotional whiplash he gave you last night.

He definitely didn’t remember asking for that kiss, and, hell, _even if he did_ , the man was too damn prideful to bring it up, knowing that you had essentially rejected his advances.

You flew around the kitchen like you were floating, trying to make as little noise as possible as you gathered ingredients and utensils before getting to work.

Chocolate chip muffins…his soft spot.

Your _favorite_ spot.

About fifteen minutes after putting them in the oven, the scent of the pastries began to fill the house. Sure enough, they reached Hopper’s nose, stirring the man awake. You continued to flip through the town newspaper at the dining table, your attention only being pulled towards the couch when he sat up with a large groan.

“Good morning,” you smiled softly, returning your attention to the sports section, cursing yourself under your breath for missing the football game that aired yesterday in favor of wallowing in your own emotions.

A close call. A good game.

“What are you doing?” he spat, looking over at you with the most adorable bed head and squinty eyes.

“ _Reading_ ,” you replied smugly. “You know, that thing where you take all the words and make them into sentences to understand a story?”

“Fuckin’ asshole,” he murmured under his breath, slowing getting up with a stretch and a groan.

“Fuckin’ dumb-ass,” you retorted with a smirk, eyes never leaving the black and white page in your hands.

“Smells good in here,” he complimented, walking toward you only to plop down in the chair next to you. “Do you…I don’t know, got a granola bar or somethin’?”

If you had coffee in your mouth, you’re sure you would have spit it out.

“I wasn’t aware you knew what granola was,” you teased, placing the paper down on the dining table before crossing your arms. “You got something against my amazing, spine-tingling chocolate chip muffins?”

He shrugged, his eyes widening upon seeing a bottle of Tylenol on the counter behind you, “Uh, you gonna get me some water so I can take them pills right there?”

“Once you answer my fuckin’ question,” you deadpanned, leaning forward with intrigue in your eyes.

“ _Jesus_ , _Callie_ , I don’t know,” he sighed, reaching out his arm to grab the bottle behind you before shaking them in his hand. “You’re almost out.”

You snatched the bottle from his grasp, making him pout as he looked up at him “What the-”

“What’s wrong with my muffins, Jim?” you whimpered, a sad look in your eyes.

A grin spread across his face, a familiarly flirty look glazing over his eyes, “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with your muffins, hun.”

“ _Oh, come on, Hopper_ ,” you snapped, slamming the bottle on the table.

“Fine,” he relented, raising his hands in surrender. “Is it so hard to believe that maybe I wanted to start a diet or something?”

“You? Start a diet?” you scoffed. “The man who drinks two beers a night? Eats chips and salsa for dinner _at least_ once a week?”

“You know what, forget it,” he replied angrily, rolling his eyes before closing them. His face suddenly grew soft for a second before it finally dawned on you, understanding painting your face.

“This is because of Joyce, isn’t it?” you whispered, saddened eyes searching his face.

“…no,” he lied, looking up at you meekly before you frowned.

“Hopper, you do _not_ need to go on a diet,” you said, reaching forward to grab his hand in yours. “You look amazing. _Sexy_ , even. I know the past few months haven’t been easy, but…life is too short to reject my baking, dumb-ass.”

He smirked, looking over you, “It’s not just her, doll. I haven’t been confidant in a long, _long_ time.”

You rubbed your thumb across his hand softly, your eyes pleading for him to continue, “Why?”

“Look at me,” he scoffed, yanking his hand away from you to grab onto his stomach. “I’m in the worst shape of my life; I can’t even walk more than a few blocks without getting winded. I’m a fuckin’ sweaty mess.”

You took your hand back, shoving it into your lap in an attempt to regain the warmth he gave you-it was pointless. Your chest ached for him as he softened in front of you, something he only did once before with you when discussing where El came from. Being insecure in front of another person wasn’t something that came easily to him and you _knew_ that.

“I think since the divorce…I don’t know, I’ve just been going through the motions,” he mumbled.

You were aware of his previous marriage but never dared to pry deeper with questions. Something about what he said made you realize that there was something more there, something that caused more damage than you initially realized. It was more than a destruction of a marriage certificate; there was trauma there.

“I was such an ugly human being,” he sighed, placing a shaking hand reluctantly over his sternum. “And…over the years, my insides have finally caught up to the outside.”

“Stop it,” you whispered, shaking your head as you got up and poured two mugs of coffee.

A domestic ritual.

“Hopper, you are _not_ an ugly human being,” you spoke, walking back to him and handing him a mug. “Not on the outside and _definitely_ not on the inside.”

“You didn’t know me back then, Callie,” he replied lowly, accepting the mug as you continued to hover over him.

“But I know who you are _now_ ,” you smiled, cupping his face with your free hand to encourage him to look up at you. “You are a beautiful man, Hop. Probably the most genuine and handsome man I have ever met, and Joyce? Trust me when I say there are a lot more problems lying underneath the surface than you think. You did everything right. You _are_ everything right.”

A thick tension fell between you, both of your eyes locked on one another before you leant forward to press a lingering and soft kiss to the man’s hairline, “The only thing you need to work on here is eating the damn muffins I made. And maybe taking a shower, because you reek of bottom-shelf whiskey.”

He chuckled, taking the hand that once rested on his cheek and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles, “You’re amazing.”

“I know,” you whispered, causing him to smirk up at you.

How could tension break the air like this? Like it was some sort of gravitational pull-

The timer rang, jolting the both of you out of your thoughts. You blushed, taking your hand from his before running into the kitchen to remove the pastries.

“How about you go and take a shower, and, when you’re done, we can eat these bad boys?” you asked over your shoulder as you turned the oven off.

“Smart girl,” he smiled, slowly raising to his feet.

“One of the many reasons you need me in your life,” you teased, poking your tongue out at him. “Can I get you a glass of milk?”

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please send me requests for this story! The more that I get, it will determine how the plot goes (which is how i really wanted to write this). I’ve also decided that this story is going to be a lot more angsty than I originally intended it to be. So, if that’s not your cup of tea, I wouldn’t get too invested in it now.


	3. Damaged Goods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a heartfelt breakfast, Callie and Hopper go for a much-needed walk. There, they both learn a lot more about each other than ever before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains very intense triggers of miscarriage and the loss of a child, as well as the death of a loved one. If this is something that you think might trigger a negative reaction from you even a little bit, please do not read this. 
> 
> A/N: Here is part three! I’m so incredibly thankful for all of the feedback and comments I have received on the last two parts. I am so sorry it took so long to post the third. Inspiration isn’t something that comes easy to me, but I finally found a muse. This is a very long chapter and it’s really heavy, but it has a lot of exposition for the story ahead. With that being said, please enjoy!

You were thankful that the lord blessed you with the ability to give such kick-ass pep-talks.

Hopper had essentially wolfed down three of your homemade muffins, washing them down with two mugs of coffee and warming your heart to the point of melting. It was nice to see him so comfortable in his own body, especially after seeing such dejection and shame in his eyes earlier.

He was utterly adorable, wet strands of dirty blonde hair falling across his forehead as he attempted not to get crumbs on the grey Hawkins P.D. tee shirt that clung to the still-damp parts of his chest. 

It felt like he was at home with you. That you both had built a tiny home together.

It was almost as if nothing ever happened in the first place. No Joyce. No date. 

_And no brightly-patterned shirt_.

“Christ, I’m sore,” he groaned, stretching his back using the back of the dining chair. “You keep bricked under those couch cushions, Callahan?”

“Small slabs of concrete, actually,” you smirked, picking up his plate along with yours before walking into the kitchen and dropping them into the sink. “How about a walk? Might help loosen those muscles of your’s.”

“Muscles?” he asked with a smile. “You keep flattering me like that, and I’ll get loosened up in no time.”

You shook your head, returning to the table before crossing your arms expectantly at him.

“Fine,” he smiled, scratching his stubbled jaw before nodding his head. “As usual, you’re probably right about that.”

You smiled brightly, ruffling his damp hair before walking to your room to dress for the day. 

A simple pair of denim shorts and a flowy white blouse would do the trick.

You emerged from your bedroom a few moments later, your arms raised above your head as you tied your hair into a high ponytail. You scoffed as you heard Hopper whistle under his breath while tying his boots up.

“Lookin’ good,” he cooed, his eyes roaming over your frame before returning to your eyes.

You blushed, tucking a stray hair behind your ear as you toed on a pair of off-white converse high-tops, “Right back at ya, Chief.”

The man smirked, standing to full height as he looked down at you, his mustache twitching as his mouth fell into a soft smile, “So, where you taking me on this walk, miss?”

You grabbed your keys off of the counter quickly before pushing him out of your house playfully, “Must you know every detail or can’t you just enjoy the ride?”

“The ride?” he drawled, voice dripping with innuendo.

“Yes, Hopper. The ride,” you replied with a shaky breath, shaking your head at the man’s flirtatious gall. 

You locked your door, skipping down each of your steps before looking at Hopper with amusement in your eyes. He trudged alongside you, his hands rested comfortably in the pockets of his worn jeans. You smiled, reaching out to rub the middle of his back with a friendly hand.

“What did you have planned for the day?” you asked, returning your hand to your own hip, itching to reach out and grab his hand and fighting the urge victoriously.

“Well, I told Flo that I would help her go through some cold case files,” he shrugged, the both of you approaching a shaded trail across the street that fed into a brightly-light forest. “So, I guess I’m going to the station on my day off.”

“Hawkins actually has cold cases?” you asked, arching a brow. “Phil always makes it seem like you don’t have enough traffic in cases for that to even be possible.”

“He doesn’t work with those cases,” he chuckled as he shook his head. “I usually like to put your brother either on desk duty or speed patrol. I think that’s why he hates me so much, but he does his job well.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” you giggled, smacking his shoulder as you both began to walk further down the trail, which was cleared with dried mud and lined with freshly-cut grass and flowers. “He’s just a grump. He dislikes everything.”

“Well, not _everything_ ,” he replied. “He’s been seeing Susan for what? Two years?”

“Three and a half,” you confirmed with a grin. “She’s honestly amazing.”

He whistled, “Damn. Time sure does fly.”

“He got a ring,” you informed him meekly, crossing your arms as you gauged his reaction.

“ _No shit_ ,” he said in shock, his eyes widening as they met yours. “Phil? A married and committed man? Okay, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Right?” you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief yourself. “He’s been head-over-heels in love with her since they started dating. A completely different man than before. Also - get this - he wants to be a _father_ to _her children._ ”

“God save the child that is born from that man’s loins,” he joked, biting his lip as you began to cackle loudly.

“Oh, God,” you responded, catching your breath. 

You shook your head, looking down at your hands and sighed shakily, “You know…I was engaged once.”

Hopper halted, his face shocked by your confession as you continued, “I was head-over-heels in love with him, too. But…you know… _trauma_ and shit.”

“ _Trauma_ ,” he scoffed, slowly beginning to walk again as he shook his head. “I’ve been down that road before, sweetie.”

A small bunny suddenly appeared before the both of you, causing Hopper to chuckle deep in his chest as you jumped at the sight.

A welcome distraction from a topic that was undoubtedly sensitive for the both of you.

“You want me to shoot that for you?” he joked, poking at your side. “I’ve been told I make a mean rabbit stew.”

“Oh, _shut up_ ,” you rolled your eyes, pushing his shoulder before looking at the rabbit bounce to other side of the trail.

It was light grey, its eyes as black as night. It couldn’t have been older than a few months based on its size, his tiny body almost dwarfed by a nearby rock. 

“Sara used to have a stuffed animal that looked just like that,” Hopper spoke softly, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. 

You looked over your shoulder, tilting your head, “Sara?”

“My daughter,” he replied, pursing his lips slightly before starting to walk towards a bench a few paces away.

Your mouth suddenly went very dry.

You had never met Sara before, but based off of the distant look in Hopper’s eyes and his paled cheeks, you had a feeling that you never would.

He sat down, looking up at you before patting the seat beside him gently. Tugging your lower lip in-between your teeth, you sat down next to him, your hands folded in your lap tightly and nerves bouncing all over the walls of your body.

A small silence fell between the two of you before he spoke up, “You never heard the town gossip of the old, drunkard Chief of Police with a troubled past?”

You shook your head, looking at him hesitantly, “I don’t really know many people here. Phil mentioned you had a rough time in New York, but…”

“Yeah, it’s not really a topic that gets brought up in casual conversation,” he stated monotonously. 

You fought the urge to reach out to him, to comfort him as he looked distressed.

Against the voice in the back of your head, you lightly clasped his hand in yours, your thumb running along his knuckles, which were calloused from years of fighting and work. 

He looked down at your enjoined hands with a shaky breath, his lower lip trembling as he began to form the words.

“She was six,” he spoke, his eyes distant as he focused on a shrub across the way. “Diane and I took her to a park near our apartment. It was a normal day, just like this.”

“She was so energetic and youthful, Callie,” he smiled, finally looking towards you. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so young who was so smart or enthusiastic. She loved science, the animals and the stars. _She loved looking at the damn stars_.”

You felt your mouth go dry, your own memories pushing forward. The same memories you built years to try to push away. 

“She was the only thing that I ever did right, you know?” he smiled, his eyes growing misty. “When we were at the park, she had some sort of attack. _Something_ went wrong, but to this day we don’t really know what happened. When we took her to the hospital, they did some tests. It took a few days for someone to figure out it was leukemia.”

“Three months was all that we had with her,” he stated, looking down at your enclosed hands. “Around the second month, Diane started to pull away. I mean, I was a mess, Callie. I started with the drinking and the pills, _anything_ that would take the pain away.”

“She didn’t want to deal with it anymore,” he said. “And I wasn’t in any position to put her through even more pain than that. The week after Sara’s funeral, we signed divorce papers, but…we had been separate a month before that. We were just biding our time together for Sara’s sake. Even if Diane and I knew it wasn’t real, that didn’t mean that Sara had to go through that.”

“Hopper,” you whispered, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek, making contact with his soft eyes. “Thank you for telling me.”

You knew better than to say I’m sorry.

You knew because you knew it wouldn’t make a difference.

Your sorriness wouldn’t bring Sara back.

_Just like his sorriness wouldn’t bring Preston or Lucas back._

The man smiled sadly, pressing a thankful kiss to the center of your palm, “I’m just sorry I didn’t do it sooner.”

“Never apologize for that,” you stated a little bit more aggressively than you wanted to. 

He chuckled, his free hand resting on your knee, “You know my dad was such a pain in the ass, even up until the very end. He died about a year after Sara did and he always made a point of telling me that it was my fault.”

You closed your eyes tightly, squeezing his hand reassuringly, “You know it’s not-”

“I know,” he smiled. “The point is that I never wanted to be like him. I wanted to be a better father than them and I never even got the chance to prove that to myself. So…when El came along, _Jesus_ , she was like seeing a beacon of light after walking in the pitch blackness for years. We were both hurt and burned and…we were each others’ second chances at life.”

“You’re an amazing father, Jim,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “You’re so strong and kind and…El is very, _very_ lucky to have you as her dad.”

His cheeks grew ruddy, a tear streaking down his cheek and causing your heart to leap in your throat.

Here Hopper was bearing his soul to you and you wanted nothing more than to cower away. You couldn’t help the emotion bubbling up in your chest. It felt like the beginning stages of a panic attack.

Lord knows it wouldn’t be the first time you had one.

“Hey,” he spoke up with concern, cupping your cheeks to look into your eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve just been… _so afraid_ ,” you whispered. “And here you are…so strong and brave by telling me this, _oh god_.”

You began to hyperventilate, your hand clutching your chest as you hauled over, willing the tears to go away. Willing your body to stop seizing up. Willing the blood to stop pounding through your ears.

No one in Hawkins knew about you except for Phil and Susan. It was one of the many reasons moving away from Indianapolis was so easy. 

It was like leaving that part of you behind.

The only problem was that something like that never goes away; it always stays with you. 

No matter how far you run.

Hopper rocked you back and forth in his arms, “You don’t have to tell me anything, Callie. _It’s okay_.”

You choked off a whimpered, groaning in frustration as you began to calm, “ _No_. No, I want to. It’s just…it’s so _hard_ , Hopper.”

“I know,” he whispered, cradling the back of your head in his palm and urging you to look at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 _That’s exactly what Preston said_ , you thought to yourself. 

You sighed, wiping away the tears that stained your cheeks, “I-I was nineteen when I got engaged.”

Hopper’s eyes grew soft, his hand moving from your head to rub calming circles over your upper back. 

“Preston and I were high school sweethearts,” you chuckled, smiling at the memory. “So when he proposed to me after his freshman year at Indiana State, I immediately said yes.”

“We stopped being careful after that that. I mean, we were going to get married, so why did it matter?” you smiled, shrugging your shoulders. “Three months later, I took a test and we found out we were pregnant.”

Hopper’s breath hitched, his eyes widening upon the same realization you had made about Sara earlier.

“We were so excited to raise him,” you whimpered, forcing yourself not to cry. “We were going to name him Lucas, after his grandfather. At the fifth month, we started painting a nursery and making plans to get eloped before the eighth month.”

“Preston…he worked as a fireman,” you smiled widely, looking at Hopper. “Phil got him the job through a buddy of his that he went through the academy with.”

“The hours were unpredictable, but it made him so happy to help save lives like that,” you whispered, the tears returning slowly as the night flashed before your eyes.

Suddenly it was like you were back there.

“One night while he was on duty, I was doing laundry. Fucking _laundry_ , Hopper,” you winced. “The blood…there was _so much_ blood.”

Hopper’s hand gripped yours tightly, anchoring you back to reality.

You were safe now.

A distant memory.

“Phil brought me to the hospital because Preston was putting out a fire downtown, some apartment complex thirty minutes away from the hospital,” you whispered. 

“I lost two people that night, Jim. I lost my entire life within a matter of _hours_.”

“I woke up in a recovery room and I had to listen to a doctor I had never met explain to me that I lost my child,” you furrowed your brows at the memory. “Phil and Susan were in the room, they were just friends at the time.”

“After the doctor explained to me about the miscarriage and what that meant for me,” you closed your eyes, your heart twisting in your chest. “I was left with Phil. Then- _god_ , that was the worst night of my life, Jim.”

“Preston was on his way to the hospital,” you smiled sadly. “He left as soon as they put the fire out, as soon as someone told him. He was on his bike as fast as he could. Sped to get over in enough time before I went into the operation.”

“Bike?” Hopper asked, his face confused as he tried to follow.

“There’s a reason Phil despises motorbikes,” you scoffed. “It’s the same reason that every time I see one, my entire body shuts down.”

“ _Christ_ , Callie,” Hopper whispered, his eyes screwing shut with regret. He never understood why Phil was so adamant about using a department car rather than a motorbike, even if the costs would have been cut dramatically.

But now he knew.

“He was five minutes away when an eighteen-wheeler pulled out of a gas station,” you stated numbly. “He never had a chance.”

You slowly pulled back from Hopper before looking at him, “I know what it’s like to lose the great two loves of your life, Jim, because I relive that night so frequently that it now feels like some distorted nightmare.”

“Callie, I am so-”

Sorriness doesn’t bring people back from the dead.

“Thank you for telling me,” he settled.

You smiled, thankful for him, “I went into an appointment a few weeks later and found out that I won’t be able to have another child again. The damage that happened… _the amount of scar tissue_ -”

You shook your head, not really understanding why you felt the need to tell him that much. You sighed.

He took your hand in his.

Things grew comfortably silent between the both of you. Not out of awkwardness but out of the need to catch a breath.

You couldn’t remember a time where you had been so vulnerable with Hopper in the entirety of the time you’d known one another. 

It felt like home.

A twisted home.

You began to chuckle lightly, soon your body seizing with uncontrollable laughter.

Hopper looked at you puzzled, “Uh…Callie?”

You snorted, lifting a hand up to cover your mouth, “I’m so sorry, H-Hopper.”

He looked a little dumbfounded, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, “ _You are so fucked up in the head, Callahan._ ”

“ _Trauma?_ ” you choked out, shaking your head. “Jesus, trauma isn’t a strong enough word for the both of us.”

In a way, you were thankful for the hearty laugh he gave you, the both of you finding comfort in one another despite how painful those memories were to bring up. You found solace in each other’s company, giving each other a smile even when things seemed to be at their most dark.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he said with a dopey smile, his thumb reaching up to wipe away the smeared mascara that clung to to sunken area under your eye.

“You tell me at least once a day,” you teased, taking a deep breath as the environment around you began to stabilize.

Hopper bit his lip, removing his hand from your face before running in through his hair, “So…Phil might have mentioned that your birthday is on Saturday. Were you just not gonna tell me about that or…?”

“ _Fucking Phil_ ,” you groaned before pointing your finger at him. “Don’t even think about doing anything, Jim.”

“I’m not,” he teased. “I have duty that day, anyway. You don’t have any plans?”

“Good god, no,” you shook your head with a roll of your eyes. “The last time that I had a party was when I was eight. Only one person showed up. Phil made fun of me for months after that. I was so mortified that I decided _never again_.”

“I’m gonna put his ass on speed patrol as soon as I get into the station,” he shook his head, looking at the watch on his wrist. “Well, I guess I should head to the station. I know Flo is looking forward to having me all to herself today.”

“Lucky lady,” you purred, winking at him with chuckle.

“Play your cards right and I’ll make sure you’re just as lucky,” he winked, standing up before taking your hand in his so you could join him. “Thank you, Callie. I just-you really don’t know how much it means to me to have you here with me.”

“That’s what friends are for, right?” you half-smiled, your chest filled with warmth.

He faltered slightly, a tiny frown pulling at his lips for a millisecond before he snuffled his nose, the whiskers above his lip twitching as he pushed forth a smile.

“I’ll catch you later, yeah?” he asked, releasing your hand before beginning to walk backwards.

“I’ll give you a call,” you replied softly, lifting your fingers in wave.

He nodded, waving back to you before walking back up the trail from which you both came.

_What a great time to leave me to my thoughts._

You stretched your arms high above your head before looking down the trail in its opposite direction.

Two roads diverged in a wood.

You began to walk the familiar path, stopping a few minutes later upon reaching a clearing that looked out onto a crystal blue lake. 

The same lake that had your heart feeling just as heavy now as it did then.

“Thank you so much for doing this,” Hopper smiled, watching El run towards the end of a wooden dock with a fishing pole dangling from her shoulder. “I just don’t know how else to get her to spend time with me.”

“It’s kind of sweet that she likes me so much,” you smiled, picking up a cooler chest and beginning to walk down the dock with Hopper by your side. “Well, I, too, used to be a teenage girl.”

“You? No chance in hell,” he scoffed before biting his cheek and nudging your shoulder. “I’m just scared she’s drifting away from me, Callie. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I think it’s that fucking kid, Mike. She hasn’t watched westerns with me in almost a month; it’s like the kid I knew isn’t even there anymore.”

You sighed, looking down at your feet as you fought the memories to remain at bay, “I mean…I remember the first boyfriend that I had. You don’t remember your first girlfriend? I mean, I know it’s been a while, but-”

“-I do,” he cut you off with a roll of his eyes. “I was never close to my parents before, though. So, I feel like maybe I’m not doing something right.”

“Hopper, I promise you are doing _everything_ right,” you pleased, reaching your hand up to pat him on the back. “Would I ever lie to you?”

He smiled warmly at your delicate touch, closing his eyes before taking a deep breath and continued to walk down to the end of the dock where El sat, wading her bare feet in the clear water.

You and El had grown incredibly close in the past few months, so you assumed that’s why it took her only a few minutes to start talking to you animatedly about Mike. 

Of course only _after_ Hopper showed her how to hook a line.

“So, the two of you are going steady, huh?” you teased, kicking her foot playfully with your own under the water as you both looked out at your lines bouncing.

“Yeah,” she chirped, a wide grin across her face. “He makes me feel really good.”

Hopper choked on his saliva at that, causing you to chuckle.

“Like, right here?” you asked, placing your hand above your heart, easing Hopper’s discomfort while not bringing it to the attention of his daughter.

“ _Yes_ ,” she smiled, mimicking your position on her own chest. “I feel warm and cozy. He makes me feel like I’m at home in the cabin.”

You smiled sweetly at her, patting her back before leaning down to whisper in her ear carefully so her father wouldn’t hear, “Sounds like _love_ to me.”

“Love?” she whispered back. “Like how Dad loves me?”

You chuckled before shaking your head, “Different kind of love. The love I’m talking about is romantic love. It’s with someone you aren’t related to but you feel like you’ve known them your entire life. They make you feel complete.”

“ _Oh_ ,” she gasped, smirking as a slight blush tinged her cheeks. “I think you might be right, Calliope.”

You chuckled, ruffling her hair a bit playfully. You had asked her several times to call you “Callie,” but El insisted on calling you by your birth-given name. She said it was “beautiful” and “regal” (which shocked you at first, but then you realized that Hopper bought her a word-of-the-day calendar).

“Have you ever been in love before?” she asked with a knowing look, subtlety nodding her head at her father.

“El, I don’t think that’s-” started Hopper, quick to intervene before things became even a little bit uncomfortable.

Hopper had brought up the subject a few times, but he quickly realized that it was something that made you uncomfortable to talk about.

“No, it’s okay, Hopper,” you smiled, reassuring both him and El. “Yes, El. I _have_ been in love before.”

“With Dad?” she asked, raising her eyebrows, her eyes filled with wonder and hope.

“Um, no, not exactly,” you chuckled in discomfort, looking over at Hopper only to find him with a smug look on his face.

Damned bastard.

“Oh,” she sighed in defeat. “Then with who?”

“It was a boy that I met when I was sixteen years old,” you said, your eyes lightly brimming with water at the thought of his face. “He was my everything. Whenever I wasn’t with him, it was like if someone told me that I couldn’t breathe air.”

Hopper looked over you then, a look of warmth painting his features as the sun set perfectly over his jawline. You suddenly felt warm, at home.

“What happened?” asked El, slightly confused at the confession when you had never even mentioned having a boyfriend.

“Well-” you began to choke up, shaking your head to relieve you of any emotion. “Sometimes, things just aren’t meant to last forever.”

“So Mike and I might not last forever?” she asked, her tone of voice almost painful.

“You might,” you replied, giving the girl some hope as you took her hand and squeezed. “If Mike is truly the right person for you, then you might just last forever.”

The small reassurance seemed to keep the young girl at bay as she peacefully returned her attention to the lake.

The rest of the night passed in a foggy haze of jokes and storytelling. Hopper ever caught a fish, even though it was about a quarter of an inch smaller than the size of his palm (which you and El refused to stop teasing him about). 

Eventually El grew tired, resting her head against her father’s shoulder and drifting to sleep some time in between stories as the sound of the cicadas grew stronger. Hopper carried her sleeping body in his arms, bringing her to the back of his Blazer before setting her down before the both of you began to pack his car back up.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard her talk so much in all the time I’ve been with her,” he said in amazement, shutting the trunk door quietly and softly as to not wake his daughter. “She really likes you, Callie.”

“She’s an amazing kid,” you smiled, squeezing his bicep warmly. “I think she just needs some time to figure herself out.”

“You’re right,” he sighed, leaning his body against the back of his car and crossing his arms. “As usual.”

“You’re getting the hang of it, though,” you smiled at him warmly.

“Thanks,” he smirked before coughing into his hand awkwardly. “Also, I’m sorry about her asking you those questions…you know, about being in love.”

“Was it a recent break-up, or…?” he asked, his eyebrow raising in interest.

“It’s…a little more complicated than that,” you replied tight-lipped.

You were beginning to feel so at-home with Hopper that you felt yourself opening up to him more and more with each passing day. 

But what you had went through was traumatic, and the last thing that man needed was you coming in and making things more complicated.

He reached his hand out to you, gently cupping your cheek as his eyes softened, looking over your face, “I’m here for you if you ever want to talk.”

“Thank you, Jim,” you smiled, biting your lower lip as his pupils dilated.

_Why do I feel so safe when I’m with you?_

“You have such a beautiful heart,” he whispered, his thumb trailing down to trace against your lower lip. “You really gotta stop biting your lip so much.”

You felt your breath hitch in your chest, your eyes growing wide and heart clenching, “Why’s that?”

He pushed himself off of the car, walking closer to you and increasing the height difference quickly, “You’re going to make me wanna bite it.”

You felt your cheeks darken ten shades. The corners of your mouth lifted instinctually, your eyes darting to the man’s soft lips. 

So close.

You could easily lean in and press your lips to his.

 _Give into what you have wanted so desperately the past few months,_ you thought to yourself. _You deserve it after what you’ve been through._

You saw him close his eyes, his face inching closer and closer to your own when that familiar yet wretched voice crawled into your brain.

_He doesn’t want your damaged goods._

Your eyes flew open at the thought, pulling away from his space with a gasp. He furrowed his brows, his eyes panicking at the thought of doing something wrong.

“I’m sorry, Jim,” you whispered, shaking your head. “I just can’t do this right now. I’m so sorry.”

He smiled tight-lipped, nodding his head in understanding before nodding towards the car, “It’s getting late, Callahan. Let’s get you home.”

You stood looking over the water with tear-stained cheeks. You could remember that night vividly, almost like looking at a painting. 

After that night, Hopper stopped trying to woo you.

Soon after that, Joyce Byers’ name tumbled off of his lips and the rest was history.

Hopper was such an amazing man, and it seemed like you both had known exactly what each other had been through.

But he needed stability. Not just for him, but a stable mother-figure for El.

 _Damaged goods_ , you thought to yourself with a laugh.

Even if Joyce wasn’t the person for him, maybe she was still out there. Maybe the whole reason why you were brought into each others’ lives was to find someone for one another.

Maybe you needed to find that woman for him.

_God knows that you never will be._


End file.
